The door opened. The figure outlined against the light was not Simon Keller.
Hiding on the other side of the black monolith, behind an overturned bookcase, her back pressed up against the damp wall, Marlene held her breath.
The man was carrying a rifle over his shoulder.
“Marlene?” the stranger called out.
Marlene made herself small.
“It’s over,” the voice said. “You can come out.”
Marlene did not answer.
The man came down a couple of steps. “I’ve come to save you. It’s over. You’re free.”
Marlene did not know who this man was, what had happened to Simon Keller, whether it was day or night or whether this encounter was no more than the fruit of her imagination. What she did know was that, for all his tone of concern, the stranger was lying. Being a good shit shoveller, she improvised. She grabbed a blanket and put it over her legs.
“I guess you don’t trust me,” the voice said. “I wouldn’t either if I were in your shoes. You don’t know why I’m here. You don’t know anything. You’ve been through a lot, I understand that. How long has he been keeping you a prisoner?”
Another step.
There weren’t many left.
“Do you want some answers?” the soothing voice asked. “You know about the Consortium, don’t you? They’ve sent me. Don’t be afraid. The debt has been settled. Wegener’s dead. But you already know that, don’t you?”
This man knew a great deal. Perhaps too much. Or had she been locked up for so long she couldn’t believe it really was over?
“You have the sapphires. Hand them over to me and that’s the end of the story. You’re still frightened of that man in black, aren’t you?”
Marlene stared.
“He’s dead,” the voice announced.
Simon Keller. Dead. Dead. Dead.
“Of course!” the stranger exclaimed, stopping at the bottom of the steps. “It’s the rifle. It scares you. You’re right. Now the old man’s dead, I don’t need it anymore. Look.”
Standing against the light, the man lowered the rifle, propped it against the wall, stepped away from it and raised his hands in the air. As he leaned to the side, Marlene saw his face. He looked like a famous actor.
He was smiling.
“I’m here,” Marlene said in a low voice.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. Are you hungry? I saw there’s food in the Stube. I can make you something to eat. Then you can rest. Maybe we could wait till daylight before going back to town. There’s no rush. I’ll keep watch.”
“I’m chained,” Marlene said. “I can’t move. He didn’t want me to run away.”
The stranger looked at the overturned bookcase. Her hiding place. Coming closer, he saw her. She lay curled up on the floor, her legs covered with a moth-eaten blanket.
He came closer still. “Marlene,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re a resourceful girl.”
Marlene pushed her hair away from her face and stared at the stranger. He stood there looking at her, hands on hips. He was smiling.
But not with his eyes.
Marlene smiled back.
“They said you were beautiful.” He crouched beside her. “But I never imagined you were this beautiful.”
He was reassuring. Too reassuring. Like the voice of the witch. Who is nibbling at my house?
Marlene the Brave made up her mind. “Can you see me?” she said.
“Of course,” the Trusted Man said, surprised.
“Good,” she said, “because you’re not going to see me anymore.”
She made a sudden gesture, and a cloud of white dust settled on the Trusted Man’s face. Quicklime. Shit shovellers’ stuff. It scalds, it burns. And if it gets into your eyes . . .
Nibble, nibble, nibble. Quicklime, too, was always hungry. Just like Lissy.
The Trusted Man jerked back, screaming. He banged into a cupboard and knocked it over, causing a whole lot of bric-a-brac to come tumbling down, burying him. He screamed with increasing pain as the quicklime acted on the mucous membranes of his eyes.
Marlene quickly threw herself in the opposite direction.
Out, out, out.
She climbed three steps, stopped, turned back, grabbed the stranger’s rifle – by now he was gasping and writhing – and dashed to the door.
The key was still in the lock. She turned it twice.